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The Play 



OF 



Ifatber flibannere 

FROM 

Cbe ©riginal IRomance of the Same, 

BY 

The Author 



New York 
1 902 



f 5 334,4 

.y473 



THF LIBRARY OF 

CONGRFSS, 
One Copy Recbived 

APR. 11 1902 

CnPywOHT ENTRY 
nX-^CLAj. -)- /Cf p 1~ 

CLA88 (S- XXO. No, 
COPY a. 



In the Episcopal Church, in both the 
United States and England, there are 
brotherhoods of monks under the three- 
fold vow. 



(Copyright. 1902, by Joseph Hudson Young.) 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE. 

Father Manners. 

The Bishop of Peterton. 

Jack Goodenough. 

Mr. Lilydale. 

Lawyer Joshua Jones. 

Mr. Wagstaff. 

Esther, a Servant. 

Another Servant. 

Mrs. Litchfield-Pendergast. 

Mrs. Wagstaff. 

Mrs. Wilberforce Willing. 

Mrs. Hartshorne. 

Miss Nancy Peters. 

Miss Lily Lilydale. 

Mrs. Jones. 

Mrs. Lilydale. 

Mrs. Van der Smythe. 

Other Members of the Ladies" Guild. 

A Quartette of Male Voices. 



ACT I. 

SCENE I. — Parlor in the residence of Mrs. Wagstaff. 
Enter ladies of the Ladies' Guild, at intervals, re- 
ceived by Mrs. Wagstaff. They exchange greet- 
ings as they enter. 

Enter Mrs. Hartshuryie. 
Mrs. Hartshorne — Will the Reverend Mr. Manners 
be present with us to-day, Mrs. Wagstafif? 

Mrs. Wagstaff — You will have to ask Mrs. Van der 
Smythe that. She, you know, had the pleasure and honor 
of entertaining Mr. Manners over Sunday, on the occa- 
sion of his last visit to Squantum. 

Enter Mrs. Van der Smythe. 
Here she is now. We were just speaking of you, Mrs. 
Van der Smythe. As you entertained Mr. Manners last 
Sunday, perhaps you can tell us if he will be present to- 
day? 

Mrs. Van der Smythe — I'm sure I can't. It was very 
little that I saw of him; only at supper on Saturday and 
at breakfast on Sunday, and again at breakfast at half-past 
six on Monday morning. For he dined on Sunday at 
Mrs. Lilydale's, and took tea with Mrs. Jones; and he 
just looked in on me on his way upstairs on Sunday 
evening after church to say good-night. 
Enter Mrs. Janes. 
Mrs. Jones — Well, ladies, I happened to overhear what 
you were saying as I was taking off my things in the hall; 
and if I may be so embolden as to state my own plain, 
private opinion publicly expressed, the minister won't be 
here to-day. And for my part and his own sake I just 



hope he won't. And if I must say it, why, I will say it, 
and then you'll all be the wiser for it, and Mr. Manners 
and the mission here the better for it. And it's just this: 
We women in this Society — I say we for manners, I 
mean for good manners, not for Mr. Manners, the min- 
ister — we women, when he is here, just keep him gadding 
over this town from one end of it to the other. If the poor, 
young man had as many legs as Boreas, or some such 
man, like I once read about in some fairy book, had 
arms 

A Voice — A hundred. 

Mrs. H. — You mean Briaraeus, Mrs. Jones ; that was 
his name. 

Mrs. J. — What difiference does it make? I say Botherus, 
then, or whatever you call him 

Voice — A hundred — he had a hundred. 

Mrs. J. he couldn't go fast enough ; no, a hundred 

couldn't do it, calling here and calling there — on this one 
and on that one. Fathers alive ! I think it's out of all 
character. Don't we know 

Mrs. H. — And I think it's out of all character, too, for 
Mrs. Jones to dilate further on this topic. 

Mrs. J. — Oh! Do you? And "topic," do you say? Please 
expound yourself, Mrs. Hartshorne. 

Voice — You said something, Mrs. Jones, about the min- 
ister's having a hundred legs. 

Mrs. J. — For shame — you, over there — Mrs. What's- 
your name ! I deny the computation, and defy you to 
prove it. 

Mrs. W. — Allow me, ladies, to make you acquainted- 
Mrs. Litchfield- Pendergast, Mrs. Jones; Mrs. Jones, Mrs. 
Litchfield-Pendergast. 

{Mrs. Jones rises and makes a very low bow.) 

Allow me to say, also. Mrs. Litchfield-Pendergast, that 
I think you should withdraw your remark. 



Mrs. Litchfield-Pendergast — For mercy's sake, then, 
let me withdraw it. But if I wanted to argue the matter, I 
could prove it. 

Mrs. J. — Prove what? That the minister's got a hun- 
dred legs ? 

Mrs. L.-P. — That you said so. But I withdraw the re- 
mark. I'm sure I do not want to have any controversy 
over it. 

Mrs. J. — If you mean argument, Mrs. — Madam — Pen- 
field-Lithograph — I can argufy some myself. My husband 
ain't a lawyer for nothing. But I am a lady, too; and I 
except your apologies. 

Mrs. H. — If I may be allowed to continue : Parish calls 
are a necessity. How could we get acquainted with the 
new minister unless he called to see us? If you, Mrs. 
Jones, think Mr. Manners is tiring himself out, going 
about making parish calls, why don't you start a subscrip- 
tion, and head the list yourself, to get him a horse and 
carriage ? 

Mrs. J. — Yes, that would be impractical, now wouldn't 
it? And you might add, Mrs. Hartshorne, a driver in de- 
livery. We — a poor church mission, just started, without 
three cents in the treasury, and not knowing yet whether 
we are a-foct or a-horseback ourselves ! 

Mrs. H. — I call the lady to order. 

Mrs. J. — Not, if you please, Mrs. Hartshorne — not yet. 
We haven't begun yet. 

Voice — Haven't begun? 

Mrs, J, — No, mdeed. The meeting hasn't been called to 
orders yet ; and how can Mrs. Hartshorne call me to or- 
ders when there ain't any orders here? 

Voice — Why, I thought the meeting was begun and we 
were going on regular. 

Mrs. H. — I now move, Mrs. President, that the regular 



monthly meeting of the Ladies' Guild of the Episcopal Mis- 
sion in Squantum be called to order. 

Voice — I second the motion. 

Mrs. Wilberforce Willing — All please say Aye. 

All — Aye. 

Mrs. J. — I say Aye, too. I'm not going to be shut off 
that way. 

Mrs. W. W. — Ladies will now please come to order. 
Mrs. Secretary will please read the minutes 

Mrs. J. — Why, it's twenty minutes to four now. 

Mrs. W. W. — I mean, Mrs. Jones, the minutes of the 
last meeting. 

Mrs. J. — Oh ! I beg pardoning. 

Secretary (Mrs. Van der Smythe) reads: At the last, 
which was also the first, meeting of the Ladies' Guild of 
the Episcopal Mission in Squantum, held on Thursday, 
January fourteenth, at the home of Mrs. Lilydale, it was 
resolved that the ladies of the recently established Epis- 
copal Mission in Squantum, diocese of Peterton, be or- 
ganized into a Society to be known as the Ladies' Guild ; 
which was done ; and the following officers were elected : 
President, Mrs. Wilberforce Willing ; Secretary, Mrs. Van 
der Smythe; Treasurer, Mrs. Wagstaff. Resolved, also, 
that the subject of the next regular meeting be the name 
for the new parish. Meeting duly adjourned to Thursday, 
February fourteenth, at the house of Mrs. Wagstaff. 
Mary Louisa Van der Smythe, 
Secretary. 

President — What is your pleasure, ladies? 

Mrs. J. — I move that the minutes be expected. 

Mrs. H. — Allow me, Mrs. Jones ; you mean accepted. 

Mrs. J. — I mean just that. I mean excepted, and I sa> 
excepted. And why shouldn't they be? Who objects to 
them? I mean what I say, and say, and always do. what I 
mean, if you please, Mrs. Hartshorne. 



Mrs. W. W. — Will someone please second that motion? 

Mrs. J. — I second it, too. I stand by what I say. 

Mrs. W. W. — All in favor of this motion, please say 
Aye. 

All — Aye. 

Mrs. H. — I rise to a point of order. This is irregular. 
It is not for Mrs. Jones to second her own motion. I now 
second it. 

Mrs. J. — And how long since, I'd like to know?' It's get- 
ting altogether too much of a how-d'ye-do, if a woman can't 
second her own motive. 

Mrs. W. W. — I beg the meeting's pardon. Mrs. Harts- 
home is correct. I ventured, as it was a mere formality 

Mrs. H. — I also venture to call the President's attention 
to the necessity of observing the formalities of due par- 
liamentary 

Mrs. J. — Where did you get that long word? 

Mrs. H. — I will tell you later — the formalities of due 
parliamentary proceeding. This is among the first meet- 
ings of the Guild ; and we may be called upon before the 
law, if any question of property should become involved, 
to answer for their regularity. 

Mrs. W. W^^I only wish there were some property in 
sight — just enough to justify the last speaker in the ap- 
prehension she has expressed. However, be it much or 
little, I gracefully acknowledge the oversight. Again ; the 
motion to accept the minutes being duly made and sec- 
onded, all in favor please say Aye. 

All— Aye. 

Mrs. W. W. — It is carried. 

Mrs. J. — I hope there is no danger of our getting mixed 
up in a lawsuit about things. If there is, I, for one, want 
to resign right here and now. But, before I do, you all 
know my husband is a lawyer, and a good one ; and if 
there should be any law business on hand, I'll warrantee 



his services for a detainer, and his fee can go for his sub- 
scription to the minister's salary; it won't be heavy — ^his 
subscription, I mean; and I reckon the salary v^on't be 
heavy, either. 

Mrs. W. W, — I think I can speak for all present and 
tender Lawyer and Mrs. Jones the thanks of the Society 
in advance. 

And now, ladies, the question before the meeting is the 
name — what shall it be? — of the Episcopal Church in 
Squantum? Please do not all speak at once. 

Mrs. H. — I suppose we have all given the matter some 
thought during the past week. I propose that each one of 
us, beginning with the president, mention in turn the name 
she or her husband may have selected 

Mrs. J. — Her husband? What have our husbands got 
to do with it? They've nothing to say in this meeting. 
We're not beholden to them here. 

Mrs. H, — Here, Mrs. Jones, as everywhere else, when it 
comes to paying the bills. 

Mrs. J. — There is something in that. I'm agreed; go on. 

Mrs. H. the name she or her husband may have se- 
lected as her choice ; and after they have all been declared, 
we proceed to vote upon them ; the one receiving the largest 
number of votes being of course the one to be preferred. 

Mrs. W. W^ — Has anyone any objection to offer to this 
plan? Then it is accepted. And as it begins with me, I 
propose the name of St. Dorcas. 

Mrs. J. — Who was that woman? 

Mrs. H. — Are we not, ladies, a little previous in this 
business? It seems to me like choosing the name for a 
child ; and, if I may be allowed the figure of speech, for 
we are all women here, the child has not been born yet. 

Mrs. J. — That's just the way it strikes me, too, and we 
don't know whether it is going to be a boy or a girl, either. 
And, to stretch Mrs. Hartshorne's figment of speech, as 

10 



she calls it, we haven't any church vesture yet, nor a meet- 
ing house — not even clothes to put on it or a cradle to put 
it in. We're in too much of a hurry. We'd better wait 
and see. Maybe there won't be any parish. The whole 
thing may peter out. 

Mrs. L.-P. — I don't think that is a good argument. 

Mrs. J. — You don't? I'd like to see you, Mrs. Penfield- 
Lithograph, make a better one. 

Mrs. W, W. — I think we are bound, ladies, to take some 
action in the matter by the resolution passed at the last 
meeting, and also that I see an easy way to arrive at a 
choice and settle the question. Each one of us will write 
on a slip of paper, which the secretary will furnish, the 
name which she prefers, and we will place them in a hat, 
as the men do when they vote. 

Voice — Won't that be great — to vote as the men do ! 

Mrs. W. W. — Then the secretary will shut her eyes or 
be blindfolded 

First Voice — Let her be blindfolded. 

Second Voice — Yes, by all means. 

All — Yes, yes ; blindfolded. 

Mrs. W. W. and draw out two slips, and between the 

two names thus drawn we will decide by vote which one 
to take for the name of the new parish. For, I can assure 
you, Mrs. Jones, and all other doubting Thomases, that the 
mission here is going to succeed, with the help of Mrs. 
Lilydale and some of the rest of us who know no such 
word as fail. 

Mrs, J. — Why, then, isn't Mrs. Lilydale here?' I don't 
see her. 

Mrs. W. W. — That reminds me, ladies. She asked me 
to make her excuses, as she is unavoidably detained, and to 
add that she herself pledges a lot and five hundred dollars 
as her subscription to the church building we have in view ; 



whicli, Mrs. Jones, I think a sufficient answer to your 
proposition to put off the choice of a name. 

Mks. J. — I have nothing more to say — no; that settles 
mr; nothing more to say ; except that it was Mrs. Harts- 
home's imposition. 

Mrs. H. — You mean proposition. 
(Airs. Jones looks daggers at Mrs. Hartshorne; hut says 
nothing.) 

Mrs. W. W. — Have you the slips ready, Mrs. Van der 
Sniythe? Kindly distribute them. 

(After the distribution.) 

Mrs. V. — But what shall I collect them in? We haven't 
a man here to furnish us with a hat. 

Mrs. W. W.— I had not thought of that. 

Mrs. J. — And I'm sure these trifling, foolish, fashionable 
headgear, we women wear nowadays and call bonnets and 
rainsboroughs, won't do — one as small as a thimble and 
the other as big as an umbrella. I wouldn't go inside of 
a church that was named out of such frippery. It's the 
Reverend Mr. Manners' duty to be here looking after his 
work, if only to have his hat handy. By the way, Mrs. 
Van der Smythe. don't you admire the overcoming style 
of hat he wears? I do. I think it's just the proper and 
proposing thing for a minister. 

Mrs. H. — Why, Mrs. Wagstaff, there's your husband's 
hat! 

Mrs. W. — Why, yes, yes; I hadn't thought of it. 
Exit Mrs. Wagstaff, to get the hat. 

Mrs. J. — She's been still as a mouse all through the 
meeting ; but they say she wears the breeches when her 
husband's home, and there's no company around. 
Re-enter Mrs. W. with hat. 

I was saying, Mrs. Wagstaff — and what I say I'll say to 
your face, so no one will measure it off to you with a yard- 



stick behind my back — that as you wear the breeches in 
this house it's no wonder that you forget your husband 
wears a hat. 

All — Ha, ha, ha ! 

Voice — That's a good one on you, Mrs. Wagstaff. 

Mrs. W. — Well, I suppose it would be no use my deny- 
ing it on my own unsupported testimony. And I can add 
his word to their becoming style when I do wear them, that 
I make the handsomest and prettiest boy he ever saw. 
Maybe it isn't my turn to laugh now. And one more thing: 
if I do sometimes put on his trousers, he has no use for 
corsets ; to which some of the young men of the smart set 
in this town are addicted. Nor did anyone ever yet catch 
him in long clothes, pleading the baby act. 

All— Ha, ha, ha ! 

A Voice — Good for you, Mrs. Wagstaff. This is your 
inning. 

Mrs. J. — Well, I guess we're quits on that. 
{The secretary collects the slips. They blindfold her, and 
she draws out two. Mrs. Wilberforce Willing takes 
them and reads:) 

St. Dorcas. 

Mrs. J. — Why, that was yours. It ain't fair. 

Mrs. W. W.— How so? 

All — Certainly it's fair. 

Mrs. W. W.— And St. Mathew. There we are, ladies; 
your choice lies between St. Dorcas and St. ]\Iathew. 

Mrs. J. — Who wrote the other? Let us see the hand- 
writing. 

{They all look.) 

Mrs. J. — I'll never try to read my husband's own hand- 
writing for him again, Mrs. Van der Smythe, if you didn't 
write that slip. 

All — Yes, yes — Mrs. Van der Smythe's handwriting. 

13 



Mrs. J. — And, now I come to think of it, why, ain't that 
the minister's name — Mathew? Mathew Manners? The 
very same ; to be sure it is. Well — I hope you're satisfied, 
Mrs. Van der Smythe. Mathew for the minister and 
Mathew for the church, and maybe Mathew for — well, 
you ain't the first pretty young widow that — no, no; I'm 
getting too — too previous as Mrs. Penfield-Lithograph — 
oh, it was you, Mrs. Hartshorne, said, — and I won't say 
what I was a-going to. But, ladies, Mr. Mathew Manners, 
if I'm any judge of character, and I pride myself that I 
am, is a modest young man ; and I'm afraid he'll be some- 
what embargoed. — ain't that the word? — embargoed, or em- 
barrassed ; I guess that's it — in his work and ministry 
among us by having the very church named after him. 
How about it, Mrs. Van der Smythe? What do you think?" 

Mrs. V. — I think, Mrs. Jones, you're a little off, or 
rather, not altogether on, on Mr. Manners' name, my own 
inclination in the matter included. His full name is 
Mathew Louis. If I were going to name the church for 
him, I should decidedly prefer the second name and call 
it St. Louis'. 

Mrs. J. — I think I would, too. His name Louis and 
yours Louisa — birds of a feather, etc. A pretty, cooing 
pair you'd make, too. 

Mrs. W. — But, Mrs. Jones, the name hasn't been de- 
cided on yet. We are to choose between that and the 
other, St. Dorcas. 

Mrs. J. — Between which — St. Mathew and St. Dorcas, 
or St. Dorcas and St. Louis? Between the three I reckon 
the minister will win. And I hope, for your sake, Mrs. 
Van der Smythe, he will. 

Mrs. W. — And now, ladies, as the afternoon is wearing 
on, and tea is ready to be served, to which I invite you 
all to stay 

Mrs. J. — I can't, I can't; I must go. 

14 



Mrs. W. — You must not go — you all must stay. I prom- 
ised my husband that pleasure. 

Mrs. J. — Pleasure! 

Mrs. W. — I expect him home every minute. And' I now 
move that the choice betv^een the two names drawn from 
the hat be postponed to the next meeting, — to be held, — 
where? 

Mrs. J. — At my house, ladies, if you please, and to stay 
to supper, too. Mrs. Wagstaff, you shall not get the best 
of me this way. 

Mrs. W. — To be held, then, at Mrs. Jones' this day 
month, and we adjourn to that day. 

Voice — I second the motion. 

Mrs. W. W. — All in favor, please say Aye. 

All — Aye. 

Mrs. W. — Will you walk out, ladies? Tea is ready. 
Exeunt. 



ACT I. 

SCENE II.— Parlor in house of Mr. Lilydale. 
Enter Miss Peters, reading the Bishop's letter. 
"To our Beloved Sister in the Church : Greeting, and 
the Episcopal Benediction. — We have this day received 
your communication, dear friend and elect lady, and it fills 
the heart of our Episcopate with renewed hopes, as touch- 
ing the future prosperity of the Church in our Patriarchate, 
toward which I joy to find you more than ever fulfilling 
faithfully the kind offices of a mother in Israel. And we 
hasten to assure you that we have this new opportunity, so 
providentially opened to us, upon our serious mind the 
last thing lying down and the first thing rising up. We 
feel that the broaching of a subject so delicate calls for 
great deliberation and address. Our excellent young dea- 

15 



con is worthy of the best; and we repose impHcit confi 
dence, as you, our most dear sister, know, in your judg- 
ment and care of so important an interest. We will coun- 
sel him, when we shall have decided on the way most meet 
and effective in which to approach him on the subject. Es- 
teemed friend and sister, the Episcopal household salutes 
you. Ever faithfully, 

"T. Titus Peterton."" 
Amen — amen. It seems almost the answer to my prayer. 
The dear, good Bishop ! — he is my only human hope in this 
business of such delicacy and interest ; — my first and last — 
yes, my last resource; for to whom else can I appeal — or 
even mention the matter? Certainly not I myself to Mr. 
Manners. He would think me interested — a matchmaker, 
and the result would be, I may well fear, the very defeat 
of this my life's last, best and fondest desire and ambition 
for the beloved child of my heart, who so manifestly, to 
my own eyes, — oh, why does he not see it, too?' — has lost 
her own heart in him. Yes — yes, the Bishop, the Bishop 
only, is the one to approach Mr. Manners 

Enter Miss Lilydale. 

Miss Lilydale — Ah, aunty, 'a letter from Mr. Manners? 
May I see it? 

Miss Peters — No, no, my child ; it is not from him ; 
but a personal letter from his lordship, the Bishop. There ; 
you may know from the envelope. Something that particu- 
larly interests me, Lily. 

Miss L. — But, aunty, whatever interests you interests 
me, doesn't it? 

Miss P. — Everything, dear, — excepting my confessions; 
and the Bishop, you know, is my Father confessor. 

Miss L. — True, aunty ; but I might be interested in them, 
too ; and I heard you mention Mr. Manners, as I came in. 
Isn't it something concerning him as well? Ah, aunty, 

l6 



please let me see it. Have you been confessing to the 
Bishop that you are in love v^ith him? 

Miss P. — With which, the Bishop himself, or Mr. Man- 
ners ? 

Miss L. — Oh, no ; with the Bishop, of course. 

Miss P. — I might be, if I were of your age, and he were 
— were Mr. Manners — As it is, or rather, as it was, once, 
long — so long ago, the Bishop and I were, in a half way 
fashion, mutual admirers — hardly lovers ; no, not lovers, 
Lily. 

Miss L. — But you must have had a lover, aunty, a real, 
downright lover — someone, when you were young? 

Miss P. — Some time I will tell you, Lily. Not to-day, 
dear. 

Miss L. — Why not to-day, aunty? I feel just like listen- 
ing to a real, true love story. 

Miss P. — It is too old, Lily, — too old, my darling, and 
too long. We are expecting Mr. Manners, you know, to 
make the promised call with you on poor Mrs. Williams. 

Miss L. — Well, aunty, this is the only secret, — this and 
the Bishop's letter, that you have kept from me. So, look 
out, or I may have one to keep from you. 

Miss P. — How do you know, Lily? I may have kept 
many secrets from you. How could you tell unless you 
knew what the secrets were? In which case they would 
be no longer secrets. 

Miss L. — That sounds logical ; but papa says logic was 
not made for women ; and we understand each other better, 
don't we? But I must not be too inquisitive. Look, aunty, 
up the street; there comes Mr. Manners now. 

Miss P. — Yes, it is he. What a fine walk he has! And 
how manly and polite he is. There is a class of the clergy, 
Lily, who seem to have been born to rule in the society 
that comes within the circle of their profession — but I 
know by experience that they are not all of his refined 

17 



type. Men of society they are, indeed, who work for so- 
ciety and work upon society ; who exist for, with and by 
society; who live and move and have their mental and 
moral being in society ; men of society and society men. 
But there is one distinction to be made between these, 
whose social equal in every way he is, and Mr. Manners ; 
and that is this : many of them are gentlemen when to be 
such is their pleasure and policy. He — he, Lily, is a gen- 
tleman at all times and to all ; and those whom he has to 
thank for this truly saving grace are, as is most right and 
meet, his father and his mother. 

Miss L. — And we will invite him to stay to tea, on our 
return from the call, won't we, aunty? 

Miss P. — Yes, certainly ; but ask your mother if it will 
be convenient? 

Enter Mr. Manners. 

How do you do, Mr. Manners? 

Mr. M. — And how are you, Miss Peters? And you, 
Miss Lilydale? 

Miss P, — Well, I thank you, Mr. Manners. 

Mr. M. — And Mrs. Lilydale? 

Miss L. — She is well, thank you. Mamma is out calling 
this afternoon ; but will be pleased to see you on her return. 

Miss P. — And I must tell you, Mr. Manners, she has 
gone, in the interests of the mission, to call on a family, a 
very desirable addition to our little congregation, which 
has recently come to Squantum. I want to congratulate 
you on having so actively engaged Mrs. Lilydale's zeal in 
the work. 

Mr. M. — I must defer to you and Miss Lilydale, next 
after her own good heart, in that matter, Miss Peters. And 
on the strength of that, I hope for Mr. Lilydale's co-opera- 
tion to the extent of becoming one of the wardens of the 
new parish about to be organized. I am sure he cannot 

i8 



resist the combined requests of the entire family to that 
end. 

Miss L. — ^Oh, I am sure papa will not refuse ! 

Mr, M. — Not if the whole world of banks and business 
were contending for him in opposition to his daughter's 
wishes. 

Miss P. — In proof of which, if proof were needed, Mr. 
Lilydale has taken up the study of church history, and has 
added to his library a copy of this invaluable calendar 
and manual, which you have introduced among us, Mr. 
Manners, so greatly to our delight and edification in this 
sectarian wilderness. Miss Lilydale and I will soon know 
it by heart; and as soon as you have completed the list 
of all those who have attended upon your ministrations 
here, please order, at my expense, a copy for every family. 

Mr. M. — Thank you, thank you, dear Miss Peters, I will 
do so with the greatest pleasure and satisfaction. The 
Bishop himself in his last letter was impressing upon me 
the importance of employing this very calendar as a most 
useful assistant in my work. 

Miss L. — There, aunty ; another letter from the Bishop. 
To-day you had one, and the other day, papa. 

Miss P. — Why, Lily, he did not mention it to me ! 

Miss L. — So you see, aunty, others have state secrets 
of the Bishop's to keep, as well as you. I think it ought 
to be my turn next. Such a dear, good old man ! I wish 
he would write me a letter. Then, aunty, I guess you 
would show me yours. 

Miss P. — I see, Lily, you have the true woman's cu- 
riosity. 

Mr. M. — I hope his Right Reverence was kind enough 
to mention your humble servant and my efforts here with 
approval. 

Miss P. — Yes — yes, Mr. Manners ; assuredly, with the 
highest commendation. We are looking forward with 

19 



eager anticipation to his lordship's first official visit to this 
new field. Do you know when he intends coming? 

Mr. M. — I shall request him to come soon after Easter, 
But, speaking of visiting reminds me; Miss Lilydale and I 
have a visit to make, have we not, this afternoon, across 
town, to the unfortunate consumptive whom you have dis- 
covered to be a member of the Church? 

Miss P. — And I must not detain you ; for at the last re- 
port she was worse, and expressed a strong desire to see 
you. Come, Lily, get ready and set out. 

Miss L. — Excuse me, please, a few minutes, aunty and 
Mr. Manners. 

Exit Miss Lilydale. 

Miss P. — My dear pastor, I feel under deep obligation 
and most grateful to the good God and Father above us 
for the blessings which have attended your coming and 
ministry among us ; particularly those which have de- 
scended upon this dear family, whom night and day I carry 
in my heart. Mrs. Lilydale, — for I may speak so person- 
ally of her to you, — seems to me to be not the same woman 
that she was ; — now, so devoted to the Church ; — before 
so light and frivolous, if I may use that word; I do not 
mean in the gay and senseless fashion, but seriously friv- 
olous ; — without heart ; absorbed in herself and the flatteries 
of the little world around us here, which pays court to her 
as the richest woman in the county ; selfish, — forgive me, 
it is true, — selfish to the degree of seeming to forget at 
times that she has a husband, or even a dear young daugh- 
ter, growing up in a maternal atmosphere of indifference, 
vanity and materialism, which, were it not for her father, 
and the generous and noble character which she inherits 
from him, would eventually stifle and kill her very woman- 
hood. Oh, my dear pastor and friend, young as you are, 
I must confide to you my anxieties, — the anxiety I may say 

20 



of my life, — and tell you, as I can no one else besides the 
good Bishop, my hopes and fears. For I — I shall soon be 
gone; and Miss Lily has not a near woman friend or rela- 
tive to give her a true mother's fond tenderness and care. 

Mr. M. — My dear, good, kind friend. Miss Peters! It is 
impossible not to see that you yourself have been and are 
all that a loving and devoted mother could be to the dear 
young daughter of this house. Comfort yourself with the 
assurance that Miss Lilydale, even should she be bereft, 
which God forefend, of the mother she has in you, your 
influence and care will still live in her filial remembrance 
of and affection for you ; and with the fact, also, which 
you so well know, that her father is all that a father could 
or should be. 

But, here she comes. I hope, too, with you, that Mrs. 
Lilydale may indeed have awakened to find herself a true 
child of the Church, and be persuaded to higher and better 
things. 

Re-enter Miss Lilydale. 

Are we ready. Miss Lilydale?' 

Miss P. — And I hope your visit will carry comfort to the 
poor sufferer — as much as it has brought to me. 

Miss L. — Why, aunty, dear, you seem sad, and sorry, — 
sorry we have to go? I wish you were going too; it is so 
little that you have gone out anywhere, of late. But we will 
soon return. Good-bye for an hour. 

Miss P. — Good-bye — good-bye. God bless you, my 
children. 

Exeunt Mr. Manners and Miss Lilydale. 

(After a minute or two the servant hears Miss Peters 
groaning, as in great distress, and comes into the room 
and finds her prostrated with a sudden attack of ill- 
ness, — as heart disease. She rushes out and runs after 
them, and they hurriedly return to find her dying. She 

21 



tries in vain to speak; takes Miss Lily dale's hand and 
the hand of Mr. Manners. In the act of endeavoring 
to join their hands, her strength fails, and she ex- 
pires. ) 



ACT I. 

SCENE III.— Library of the Bishop of Peterton. The 
Bishop seated, looking over a pile of letters. He 
takes Miss Peters' letter and speaks: 

Ah, here it is. (Reads) "My Right Reverend, dear 
Lord Bishop" — The dear, departed lady, born and reared 
in the Provinces, — so would she always address me; and, 
I must say, I rather like it, — "You are a father to your 
clergy," — Yes, I try to be; but some of them I find restive 
under my authority, particularly that Rev. Mr. Wild. He 
wants me to sanction his marriage to his deceased wife's 
sister. Never. I would as soon think of allowing him to 
marry his mother-in-law. Sooner, perhaps. He deserves 
to be well punished. 

But — where was I? — Oh — "a father to your clergy; and 
I, who have made you a confidant and confessor in my own 
life-grief, come again to you, to beg your kind and, if pos- 
sible, actual concern in what I believe to be the hest per- 
sonal interests of our dear friend and your servant, the 
Reverend Mr. Manners, and of the cause which he sO' 
faithfully represents." 

Yes, I have no fault to find with Manners. He has made 
an excellent beginning there in Squantum. — "My own 
special and private solicitude, in the delicate matter to 
which I refer, grows out of that of my dear child. Miss 
Lilydale, whose sweet and gentle heart has lost itself in 
her spiritual adviser and guide" ; — Manners, you are a 
lucky dog, if you only knew it — "while he, a fact which 
adds unspeakably to my anxiety, seems, in his great devo- 



tion to the church,*' — true, — "wholly unconscious, and, I 
believe indeed is, of the sentiment with which he has in- 
spired her." — Too true; the church could afford to dis- 
pense with some of his devotion, in favor of the young 
lady. — "I therefore venture to beseech you, my dear friend 
and Lord Bishop, in your own careful and tactful way, to 
kindly approach the Reverend youth on the affair and ap- 
prize him of its present state, which makes me solicitous 
for Miss Lilydale's health, and to do what you, and you 
alone, conscientiously and politely can, to its furtherance 
and success." — And I will. — "Pardon me, my Lord Bishop, 
for thus intruding this delicate matter upon you ; but I 
know you will sympathize with me in it," — I do indeed, — 
"and appreciate the benefit which would, I feel sure, result 
to the church here through the union of the young clergy- 
man, who is so beloved by us all, and the fortunes of the 
Lilydale family, 

"Most sincerely, my Lord Bishop, 

"Your obedient and devoted handmaid and servant, 

"Nancy Peters.^' 

There ! I call that a wise woman. But, truly it is a most 
delicate matter. However, since the young man made the 
appointment himself to confer with me here to-day "upon 
a serious matter," — his own words, — ^where is his letter? — 
(Looking among the pile of letters.) — here — "upon a se- 
rious matter concerning my future life and ministry, in 
regard to which I desire to open my mind and heart to you, 
my Right Reverend Father, and ask your direction and 
advice." 

Certainly — it must be that. Poor, dear Miss Peters ! Al- 
ready your prayer has been answered. The young man 
himself has discovered your secret of Miss Lilydale's pas- 
sion for him ; and he wishes, and very rightly, too, to take 
his Bishop into his confidence in the affair. I wish more 
of my clergy, when they think of marrying, had his discre- 

23 



tion. This makes my part In It easy. Still, I do not quite 
see the necessity, in this most desirable instance, of his 
doing so, unless some difficulty has arisen — perhaps op- 
position on her mother's part; Mrs. Lilydale is just such 
a woman. We will soon know. — (Looking at his watch.) 
— He is due here now. 

Enter servant. 

Servant — The Reverend Mr. Manners, your Right 
Reverence. 

Bishop — Show the gentleman in, Esther. 
Enter Mr. Manners. 

Manners — Good morning. Right Reverend Bishop. I 
hope I find you well this morning. 

Bp. — Very well, I thank you. And how is the good 
work going on in Squantum? 

M. — Most encouragingly, Bishop. 

Bp. — So I have heard — so I have heard, I am most 
pleased to assure you ; the evidence of which I will present- 
ly submit to you over the signature of our late most es- 
teemed friend and your co-worker in the field. Miss Peters. 

M. — Poor, dear lady ! Her death was a great loss as 
well as sorrow to us all. 

Bp. — It was indeed. And how are Mr. and Mrs, Lily- 
dale? — a family to he carefully cultivated, as one of our 
most important allies in the campaign the church has un- 
dertaken there. 

M. — They are indeed. But Mrs. Lilydale — well, she has 
grown decidedly cool toward the cause since Miss Peters 
left so large a part of her fortune to the church there. 

Bp. — I had feared as much. And how is Miss Lilydale? 

M. — Miss Peters' death has seemed to aflfect her greatly. 
Her interest m the work, however, seems to have increased 
in proportion as Mrs. Lilydale's has diminished. 

Bp. — Ah — I am pleased to hear that. She gives promise 

24 



of great character, as her womanhood develops. And now 
be seated, my son, and freely unbosom yourself to me, 
your friend and Bishop, of the gentle and honorable senti- 
ments of your heart. 

M. — I — I thank you, my Right Reverend Father. 

Bp. — Be seated, my son ; I am glad of the confidence you 
repose in me concerning a matter so delicate and serious. 
A good wife, as the Scripture saith, is from the Lord ; and 
her husband is known in the gates when he sitteth with the 
elders of the land. 

M. — Please — please be so kind, Bishop, as to hear the 
reasons for the step I do so greatly desire to take, before 
subjectmg it to the sarcastic — begging your pardon — cen- 
sure you may now feel that it requires from you as my ec- 
clesiastical authority and spiritual director ! 

Bp. — Do I then so misapprehend the nature of your 
visit? Speak; for I perceive that I have mistaken the mo- 
tive which I was hoping had brought you hither to-day. 

M. — Right Reverend Father : It has always been to me a 
source of regret that my churchmanship was not more 
strictly in accordance with that excellent pattern which you 
have furnished the clergy of your diocese withal. I have, 
however, consoled myself with the belief that we are 
working in essential harmony. And I have been assured, 
have I not, up to the present time, that my methods have 
obtained my Bishop's approval? 

Bp. — They have — they have, indeed. 

M. — To state then briefly the object of my coming to 
you to-day: I am desirous to join the Brotherhood of St. 
Athanasius, and take, in addition to the vows of my min- 
istry, the threefold vow of poverty, obedience and chastity. 

Bp. {After a space, suddenly arising.) — Thus — thus am 
I punished, and justly, for my procrastination. Alas, why 
did not I myself summon you to this interview before ! 
{Handing him Miss Peters' letter.) 

25 



Read that — read that, my son ; while you excuse me for 
a few moments. This quite overcomes me. 

Exit Bishop. 

(Manners reads the letter.) 

M. — Oh, my — oh, my ! I see now — I understand. I 
guess, however, the dear old lady was more in love wjth 
me than Miss Lilydale is. But, anyhow, it's not to be 
thought of. 

Re-enter Bishop, with a vinaigrette, of which he inhales 

freely. 

I regret — I greatly regret — 

Bp. — The resolution you have formed ; say that — say 
that, my son ; the resolution you have formed ; commenda- 
ble enough, perhaps, in itself, but most inexpedient under 
the circumstances. 

M. — Most gladly — most gladly would I say so, if only I 
could. Miss Lilydale is a most estimable young lady. For 
her fine qualities, I can say with the poet: She is noble 
born; and like her true nobility she has carried herself 
toward me; — with so true womanliness has she concealed 
from me, and from every one, I am sure, excepting her 
intimate and discerning guardian and friend, the unhappy 
state of her gentle and cultured mind. 

Bp. — Reconsider — reconsider, then, your resolve. 

M. — If I might, perhaps; but, I have secretly plighted 
my troth to a bride even yet more estimable, and to whom, 
I believe, Miss Lilydale to be equally devoted with myself. 
What would she say, should she know that I had broken 
my engagement to the Church for a mortal, even such as 
she? And, upon second thought, may not her sentiments 
toward me be but the unconscious reflection of her love for 
the Church of which I am a minister? 

26 



Bp. — We will absolve you — we will absolve you, my son ; 
we, who bind and loose with the keys of our undoubted 
office. But, we perceive that thou art indeed a youth, and 
as yet unlearned in that lore of human nature so necessary 
for us all to acquire. A woman who loves will forgive the 
man she loves anything he may do for her sake. So it is 
written. Besides, your reasoning of her sentiments is, we 
will dare warrant, the reverse of the right ; and that her 
attachment to the Church of which you are a minister and 
so worthy proceeds rather from the passion with which you 
yourself have inspired her. But, granting the truth of your 
supposition, how much more effectively — this is your 
Bishop's opinion, — could 5^ou serve the Church, the cause 
of Miss Lilydale's heart perhaps, and of your own cer- 
tainly, by uniting her devotion and her family's influence 
and the large fortune which will be hers with your min- 
istry! Would she not double it? Would she not be indeed 
a help most meet for you? 

M. — Not, my dear Bishop, not, according to the best of 
the belief and reasoning of that Apostle who both advised 
others and chose himself not to become entangled in the af- 
fairs of matrimony. With all possible deference and filial 
regard to your Right Reverend reason and authority, — 
none could feel more than your humble servant — I think I 
have him on my side in this question ; particularly where 
he says that he that is married seeketh rather how he may 
please his wife. And it is not only for your personal ap- 
proval of the step, that I have sought this interview this 
morning, but also to request that your Right Reverence 
will visit Squantum during the coming Easter season and 
there yourself induct me into the brotherhood and admin- 
ister the threefold vow. 

Moreover, Bishop, as I do not find in my heart a re- 
sponse to the personal affection for me on the part of the 
young lady, which Miss Peters' letter discovers, would it 

27 



not, therefore, be doing her the greatest possible wrong to 
gratify her with an assumed, as it necessarily would be, 
feeling of reciprocation? 

Bp. — I will admit, young man, because I must, that this 
argument may be good now, but you yourself must also 
admit that it will cease to be so, if, upon further consid- 
eration, you shall find yourself irresistibly drawn to Miss 
Lilydale, in response to her thoughts of you, now that your 
own have been so focused upon her amiable and desirable 
person ; a result which has obtained with others under like 
circumstances, and is not impossible, I still trust, with one 
even so far removed, seemingly, from hope, as you. Give 
it, then, — give it, I beseech you, I — your Bishop, more 
time — time, that great resolver of dilemmas. 

M. — Ah, Bishop, I fear you do not know my convic- 
tions in this matter. I am in no dilemma. 

Bp. — Still, you may yet find yourself in that predicament. 
While you live, and Miss Lilydale, I hope. And in the 
event of the worst, that is, of your taking the vow, I fear 
the administering of it at the Bishop's hands might be the 
occasion of offense to the tender consciences of those who 
think otherwise on the subject. 

M. — But, ought not you, the Bishop, to be yourself the 
authority to pronounce the law in such matters of con- 
science? 

Bp. — That may be true, in non-essentials of this nature, 
in which we are free to choose. And now I will tell you 
what I will do : Postpone this matter one month, and then 
if you are of the same mind, — why then, if I must I must 
— give it my approbation. 

M. — I agree to that ; and thank you. Bishop, for your 
forbearance and kindness, and for the time you have given 
me. So now I will say good-morning. 

Bp. — Tarry; and take luncheon with me at the See 
House. 



M. — I thank you 

Bp. — Oh, yes ; I insist upon it. But, I say, young man, 
what a handsome living for two young married doves is 
that which our deceased friend, Miss Peters, has so hand- 
somely provided for you and Miss Lilydale, — I am sure 
she had you both in her mind, — in her last will and testa- 
ment ! How great would be her disappointment could she 
know, and I believe she does, — think of that — that Miss 
Lilydale, as you now seem determined, will never be that 
mistress of the new rectory. Once more, let me urge you 
to reconsider your resolve. We pass out, please. 

M. — After you, Bishop. 

Bp. — No ; after you. 

(Exeunt. ) 

Curtain. 



29 



ACT II. 

SCENE I. — Parlor in the home of Mrs. Jones. Present, 
ladies of the Guild. 

Mrs. Wilberforce Willing (President) — The meeting 
will please come to order. Mrs. Secretary, please read the 
minutes of the last meeting. 

Mrs. Van der Smythe — At the last monthly meeting of 
the Ladies' Guild of the Episcopal Mission in Squantum, it 
was moved and seconded that the minutes of the last meet- 
ing of the Guild be accepted ; which was done. The ques- 
tion of a name for the parish was then taken up. It was 
decided that lots should be cast ; and two names were 
drawn — St. Dorcas and St. Mathew. A motion was car- 
ried to postpone decision between these two names till the 
next regular meeting of the Guild. 

Adjourned to meet on March fourteenth, at the house of 
Mrs. Jones. 

Mary Louisa Van der Smythe, 
Secretary. 

Mrs. W. W. — If no objection is made, I will declare the 
minutes accepted. They are accepted. Mrs. Van der 
Smythe, will you please take the chair? 

(Mrs. Van der Smythe takes the chair.) 

In view of the new issues confronting us as a mission, 
in consequence of the death of Miss Peters, it seems in- 
cumbent upon me, as president of the Guild, to address you 
in regard to them. And I would say first, that as Miss 
Peters has been for many years a member of the Lilydale 
household, it seems proper that we, as a body, should pass 
a resolution of condolence with them on the sad event. 

30 



Such a resolution I have prepared, and, if the meeting 
please, will read it. 

Mrs. Hartshorne — Before doing so, I beg leave to 
make an observation. While I fully appreciate the presi- 
dent's kind motive in offering such a resolution, it seems 
to me that it would be wiser not to pass it. We all know 
how aggrieved and angry Mrs. Lilydale feels over Miss 
Peters' bequest to the mission of half her fortune. Know- 
ing the lady as we do, I believe you will all agree with me 
that she would regard a resolution of condolence as add- 
ing insult to what she feels to be a mortal injury. You 
know how bitterly she has expressed her resentment toward 
the late Miss Peters on account of it. 

Mrs. Jones— Why should we stickle at that? Isn't she 
rich enough already? — worth a hundred thousand, if a 
cent! Does she want to be a second Hetty Green? 

Mrs. H. — Would she, Hetty Green, have given us a lot 
and five hundred dollars? Not on your tin-type, Mrs. 
Jones. 

Mrs. V. — I respectfully call the lady to order. 

Mrs. J. — Good ! Thank you. I was going to say some- 
thing by way of injoinder to your reflections in my face, 
Mrs. Hartshorne ; but I won't. You're my guest here to- 
day with the rest of us, and I'll treat you with all due 
hostility. 

Mrs. W. W. — I withdraw my suggestion. 
{Resumes the chair.) 

Mrs. J. — I move that we now proceed to choose between 
the two names for the parish, St. Dorcas and St. Louis. 

Mrs. V. — I beg to correct Mrs. Jones. It was St. 
Mathew. 

Mrs. J. — Yes ; so it was ; you're right, Mrs. Van der 
Smythe ; and I want to pay you the complaisance to say 
that you mostly are. 

(Looking daggers at Mrs. Hartshorne.) 

31 



Mrs. V. — I shall, however, have to ask the president to 
call you to order now, in regard to your motion, 

Mrs. J.—Mef 

Mrs. V. — If we are correctly informed, Miss Peters, in 
her last will and testament, chose herself the name for the 
parish ; and made the acceptance of it one of the two con- 
ditions of our receiving the bequest of twenty thousand 
dollars 

Mrs. J. — That's a good bit of money — here in Squantum. 

Mrs. V. — The other condition being, as you know, that 
we raise five hundred dollars a year toward the rector's 
salary. 

Mrs. J. — And that's more yet, when it's a question of 
our paying it. 

Mrs. W. W. — Will someone now move that the subject 
before the Guild, of a name for the new church, be waived 
until the announcement of the decision of the Probate 
Court upon the validity of the codicil to the will of Miss 
Nancy Peters. 

Mrs. V. — I make that motion. 

Mrs. H. — I second it. 

Mrs. J. — If I may be committed to speak, I believe that 
this is a stage in the meeting where some observances may 
not be in place. Am I right or wrong, Mrs. President? 
If I am, correct me. 

Mrs. W. W. — You are right, of course, Mrs. Jones; but 
I must also correct you. You mean to say, some observ- 
ances may he in place. 

Mrs. J. — That's just what I said ; but, it's no matter ; 
I'm going to speak all the same. But before I do, what is 
that name, Mrs. Van der Smythe, that the late Miss Peters 
says in her will we must christen this parish? 

Mrs. V. — St. Calendar, I believe. 

Mrs. J. — So I heard; but I wanted to be sure. And 
now, for my part, as good as the lady was, I regard her 

32 



proposals as an indignation to the Society, — and good as 
her contentions mote have been, it is plain enough that 
she was crazy and under a hallelucination when she lit upon 
such a name as St. Cullender for a religious edifix. I will 
leave it to the learned Bishop himself if there is any such 
saint in the almanax. I therefore mend the motive to 
wave the further consideration of the name by one to 
reject Miss Peterses will altogether; and I hope it will be 
seconded. 

Mrs. H. — I beg leave to be heard in a few words. I 
hope some arrangement may be come to between the Bishop 
and the Probate Court in regard to the conditions which 
Miss Peters' bequest imposes on the mission. I quite agree 
with Mrs. Jones 

Mrs. J. — I thank you, thank you kindly, Mrs. Harts- 
horne. 

Mrs. H. in regard to her objection to the name; and 

as for the other condition, that we raise five hundred dol- 
lars a year — five hundred dollars for a new society — like 
ours! We can't do it 

Mrs. J. — Never— never! 

Mrs. H. — No, not for years to come. And when we can, 
we shall be just as able to raise a thousand a year, which 
is as much as we will get together if we should accept Miss 
Peters' offer; and then we wouldn't need it. And as for a 
rectory, — what, to come right down to it, do we want of a 
rectory anyway? Mr. Manners is not married; and if he 
should get maried 

Mrs. J. — I nominate Mrs. Van der Smythe. 

Mrs. H. — Well, I have heard that ministers never stay 
long in a place after they marry in the congregation; and 
I am sure that we here in Squantum could not support a 
married preacher, whoever he might be — not even with the 
help of Miss Peters' five hundred dollars a year, if his wife 
should be as extravagant as some women are whom I 

33 



know; and I have heard that the wives of Episcopal min- 
isters are extravagant, very extravagant — fashionably, friv- 
olously, wickedly extravagant, many of them; which is 
what I have to say on this occasion. 

Mrs. W. W. — I think a due respect for Miss Peters and 
her good intentions should lead to the passing of. the mo- 
tion before us. We understand there is some difficulty in 
deciphering the clause in the codicil which refers, as is re- 
ported — and we all know, we here in Squantum, how unre- 
liable report is, — to Saint, or something. Calendar. I would 
respectfully suggest, that when the truth comes to be 
known, what Miss Peters meant to say is not Saint Cal- 
endar, but the name of some saint in the calendar, the al- 
manac, of course, which the Reverend Mr. Manners has 
introduced among us, and to which the late deceased be- 
came so attached. 

You have all heard the motion, ladies, that was made, 
I hat we waive for the present the question of a name for 
the new parish. All in favor say Aye. 

All — Aye. 

Mrs. W. W. — It is carried. 

Enter servant. 
Servant — The Reverend Mr. Manners, Mrs. Jones. 
(Exclamations of surprise and pleasure.) 
Enter Mr. Manners. 

Mrs. J. — Well— this is a surprise. Now you have caught 
us — and as busy as bees talking. But you've come too late. 
I've lost my motive. But it might be worse ; Mrs. Van der 
Smythe has carried hers. 

Mr. Manners (After greeting the Society) — I have just 
come, ladies, from the Probate Court, and bring you my 
congratulations. The last will and testament of Miss Nancy 
Peters, with the codicil thereto attached, has been admitted 

34 



to probate. A beautiful, new church and rectory, with an 
endowment fund, are now assured facts. 

Mrs. J.— Mr. Manners! 

Mrs. W. W. — This is indeed good news. 

Mrs. H.— Poor Mrs. Lilydale ! 

Mrs. J. — Poor nobody ! Why don't you go palaver to 
Hetty Green, and try to shed a few alligator's tears over 
her? I've heard she once lost her pocket-book with her 
car-fare in it. 

Mr. M. — I believe, ladies, that time will reconcile Mrs. 
Lilydale; particularly, when she sees how much Miss 
Peters' bequest will accomplish for the cause here in Squan- 
tum. 

Mrs. H. — And what about the conditions — have we got 
to accept them? 

Mrs. M. — Of course ; or forfeit the bequest. 

Mrs. H. — We'll never be able to do it in this world. 
Raise five hundred dollars a year? And then, there's that 
name! Must it be St. Calendar's? 

Mr. M. — So the Court decides. 

Mrs. J. — I told you so ! That's what you get for not car- 
rying my motive. What a pity, Mr. Manners ! Mrs. Van 
der Sniythe wanted to name the church after you. And I 
did, too. I guess we all did — didn't we, Mrs. Van der 
Smythe? Anyway, it was your name. 

Mrs. V. — Now Mrs. Jones ! It isn't necessary for me to 
explain Mrs. Jones' remarks, Mr. Manners. You have 
heard them before. 

Mrs. J. — You stay, Mr. Manners, after they're all gone, 
and I'll explain them myself. Yes, ladies, he's my guest 
to-night — unless Mrs. Van der Smythe persists on carry- 
ing you off with her. For of course you can't leave Squan- 
tum till to-morrow. 

Mr. M. — I thank you; I must accept your kind invita- 
tion, and I do so with pleasure. I came here, ladies, to 

35 



report the decision of the Probate Court, and also to invite 
you all to step over with me to the architect's office to look 
at some plans which he has kindly drawn in anticipation of 
the decision. 

All — Oh, how delightful ! Yes, yes ; we will go over 
with you. 

Mrs. W. W. — This is very thoughtful and kind of you, 
Mr. Manners. 

Mrs. J. — But you must 'all come back with me to supper. 
You remember that was the agreement at the last meeting. 
I know I need not ask any of you twice, now the minister 
is here, too. You're what I call a drawing card, Mr. Man- 
ners—for all of us except Mrs. Lilydale; and I guess she'll 
come round. Lead on, pasture. 

Exeunt. 



ACT II. 

SCENE II.— Parlor in the house of Mrs. Lilydale. 

Enter Mrs. Lilydale and her daughter, just returning from 

church. 

Mrs. Lilydale — I will give you your choice : Either you 
will explain to me in a full and honest confession, or I 
will myself become confessor to your embryo priest, and 
he shall explain, or from his Bishop I will know the rea- 
son. Is it not enough what your family has already suf- 
fered from this Jesuit in disguise, but you must play the 
fool to his knave and faint dead away before everybody on 
seeing him take that vow this morning and join a brother- 
hood of monks? 

Miss Lilydale — There is nothing — there is nothing. 

Mrs. L. — This is only adding deceit to your already de- 
ceitful ingratitude. But — take your choice. The Bishop 

36 



fortunately is here, and I will know what he has to say, in 
this matter, to your Romeo of Rome. 

Miss L. — He is innocent ; he knows nothing ; it is only 
myself. I will tell you all, mamma; I will truly. 

Mrs. L. — Very well ; go on then with your confession 
while you are in the mood for it. I am your mother. You 
have nothing to fear, provided you tell me all and truly. 
You love, or think you do, Father Manners; that will be 
his title now. How long is it since this came about?' 

Miss L. — I do not know, mamma. I think ever since I 
first met him. 

Mrs. L. — Have you ever spoken to anyone on the sub- 
ject? Or has anyone spoken of him in this relation to you? 

Miss L. — Never, mamma ; never. 

Mrs. L. — Then he has only made a dumb show of his 
sentiments ? 

Miss L. — He has no sentiments for me ; none in the least 
that I so much as suspect — now. 

Mrs. L. — He might have affected them in his flirtations. 

Miss L. — You do not know him, or you would not thus 
falsely accuse him. 

Mrs. L. — Do you mean to tell me, Lily, that this young 
man, full of pent-up life, has never offered you personal at- 
tentions which you felt at the time were meant either as 
serious love or flirtation? Recollect; the last two times he 
dined here I excused myself and you were hostess. 

Miss L. — He was always very polite ; nothing more. 

Mrs. L. — And is it for such an icicle that you lose your 
heart, and on his taking the vow of celibacy to which he 
was born your senses, too, and fall in a fit as if you were 
dead? 

Miss L. — I cannot help it; but you said just the other 
thing of him just now, mamma. 

Mrs. L. — I — I did ; but your words disprove my thoughts 
of him. 

37 



Miss L. — He is not an icicle ; he is a gentleman. 

Mrs. L. — What did your Aunty Peters know of this 
affair? 

(Miss Lilydale weeps violently.) 

Mrs. L. — Yes ; of course she had a part in it. I knew it. 
{Miss Lilydale continues weeping.) 

Mrs. L. — You said, Lily, that not a word on this subject 
had passed between you and anyone. How, then, did Miss 
Peters know; for I take it for granted that she did? 

Miss L. — I do not know, mamma, that she did know. 

Mrs. L. — What, did she never speak to you of Mr. Man- 
ners as a possible or desirable lover? 

Miss L. — No, never. 

Mrs. L. — But you believe that she knew that you had 
such thoughts of him? 

Miss L. — Yes, I am sure she did. 

Mrs. L.— Did not 3^ou tell her that you did?' 

Miss L. — I did not. It was my own secret. 

Mrs. L. — I suppose she divmed it. She could see with 
her eyes shut things that no one else could discover with 
them open. 

I will excuse you from dinner, after the scene in church. 
Remember, Lily, your spiritual guide and well but unwisely 
beloved has taken the vow which shuts him out of your life 
and you out of his thoughts of you, if he ever had any, 
which seems more than doubtful — forever. He could never 
reciprocate your sentiments but as a knave, nor can you 
continue to feed their unhappy flame but as a little fool. 

These, my child, are plain words, but true ; the advice of 
your mother who alone loves you well enough to give it. 
Go to your room now and rest yourself. 
Exit Miss Lilydale. 

So this is what has happened next — Lily dead in love. 
First the will and the codicil leaving $30,000 out of 

38 



the family — $20,000 of it to the mission here, and 
now Lily, like Jill down the hill, goes tumbling after. Well 
— she won't go far. Oh, the double trouble, folly, chagrin 
and mortification of it ! And she'll be sick over it, I can see 
that already; but it shall not be here in Squantum. To- 
morrow, pack up, and Tuesday, away to Long Branch. 

Enter Mr. Lilydale. 

Mr. Lilydale — And how, Sophronia, is our dear child? 
Is she very ill? What is the matter? 

Mrs. L. — What? — You ask what? Are you then so 
blind ! But, I've nothing to say on that score — we've both 
of us been as blind as bats. Don't you know she's dead in 
love with Mr. Manners? 

Mr. L. — Pshaw — nonsense ! And how long since ? 

Mrs. L. — Ever since she first saw him, — so she con- 
fesses. 

Mr. L.— Poor child! What shall we do? I'll go for a 
doctor. 

Mrs. L. (Laughing outright) — That's just like a man. 
I am all the doctor she needs. You might as well send a 
doctor to a fire. I'll attend to the case. 

Mr. L. — Poor girl — poor fellow ! So she is in love with 
him ! Well — that's natural enough. Manners is all right — 
only for that foolish step he took this morning. Oh, what 
a mistake ! Oh, what a delusion ! Trying to revive the 
ancient order of monks in this year of our Lord 1900 ! 

Mrs. L. — / am glad of it, since Lily has fallen head over 
ears in love with him. And I'll tell you right here, Thomp- 
son, what I'm going to do — I'm going to leave Squantum. 
I'm going to Long Branch to-morrow, — and to Europe next 
month 

Mr. L. — And to Asia the month after that — and the 
month after that — that'll be August — to Africa. — And where 
the month after that?— June, July, August, September, — 

39 



where in September? Perhaps though by that time you'll 
be on the home stretch — that is, if you intend to return at 
all — to ever come back ! 

Mrs. L. — That's all very well ; well said and well done 
on your part ; but between wills and codicils and ministers 
I'm tired and sick of Squantum. It's killing me; and I'm 
going. 

Mr. L.— And take Lily with you? 

Mrs. L. — What? Since I am going on her account, you 
don't think I'd leave her behind, do you? Such a conclu- 
sion on your part would be right in line with your favorite 
observation that logic wasn't made for women. 

Mr. L.— Well, then, I'll go, too. 

Mrs. L. — How can you leave your business? 

Mr. L. — Take that along, too, I suppose. If I can't do 
that, I can leave it long enough to go after you and bring 
you and Lily home again. 

Mrs. L. — Not for a year or two — or ten. But, where did 
you leave the Bishop and Mr. and Mrs. Wagstaff? 

Mr. L. — I was so concerned about Lily, I excused my- 
self and left them to follow. Here they come now. I'll 
run upstairs to see Lily a few minutes before dinner. 
Exit Mr. Lilydale. 

Mrs. L. — Yes, indeed, I'll take her away from here. The 
air of Squantum is stifling me. 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Wagstaff, the Bishop and Mr. Man- 
ners. Mrs. Lilydale greets them, but scarcely nods to 
Mr. Manners. 

Mrs. Wagstaff — Mrs. Lilydale, how is Lily? She 
seemed quite ill, dear child. 

Mrs. L. — Only another, but the severest yet, of several 
recent attacks of vertigo. 

Mrs. W. — No wonder; it was so warm in the hall. I do 



hope the new church will soon be finished. The services 
were so unusual, too. 

(Shaking her linger at Mr. Manners.) 
Bishop — We hope the dear young lady is not suffering 
at the present moment. She is a tender plant in our vine- 
yard, and one on whom we, with yourself, Madame, have 
set great hopes. 

Mrs. L. — Thank you, Bishop, for your Grace's interest 
in our only child. You have quite taken us by surprise to- 
day, — you and Mr. Manners, with two sermons at one serv- 
ice, a tax on the strongest of us ; together with the extraor- 
dinary ceremony that followed. 

And you. sir, Mr. Manners, — Father Manners we must 
say now, I suppose. — have indeed taken a new departure. I 
hope you may have grace to perform your vows. 

Manners — And I trust I may have your kind prayers to 
that end, Mrs. Lilydale. 

Mrs. L. — You shall have them. But I presume, sir, we 
shall lose you soon, in Squantum. You will scarce find this 
little field white for the kind of harvest for the reaping of 
which you have girded yourself. 

{Looking at the cord of his cassock.) 
Besides, your vow of poverty would not, I should im- 
agine, allow you to settle down in the luxury that has been 
so improvidently provided for one of your brotherhood. 
Re-enter Mr. Lilydale. 
Enter servant. 
Servant — Dinner is served. 

Mrs. L. — I believe dinner awaits us. Will you pass out, 
please. 

{Mrs. Lilydale takes the Bishop's arm. Mr. Lilydale gives 
his to Mrs. Wagstaff, and Mr. Manners and Mr. Wag- 
staff go out together.) 

Exeunt. 

41 



ACT II. 

SCENE III— Mr. Manners' Room in the Theological Sem- 
inary. A knock at the door. 
Manners — Come in. 

Enter Goodenough. 

Come in, Goodenough, and glad enough I am to see you, 
my good friend. It seems to me as if I had been away a 
month instead of a few days. You do not know how home- 
sick I get for this little nest every time I leave it. 

Goodenough — Ha, Manners, Manners, after what you 
have just done I can believe you! Do you already regret 
your vow? For you look as if you had not slept for a 
week. Is that the rope with which you fellows ecclesias- 
tically hang yourselves? Flagellations and all other kinds 
of self-inflicted penance will now be in order with you, I 
suppose. Let me take it and use it on you, you miserable 
dog of a devotee, and I will soon baste this nonsense out 
of you. Ah! Manners, Manners (embracing him), may an- 
gels indeed defend us, when ministers of grace thus aban- 
don us broad churchmen to doubt, denial and the devil. 

M. — Yet I still have hope of you, Goodenough ; how- 
ever your name now seems to misfit you. Wait till you get 
to be a bishop, and see how the scales will fall from your 
eyes ! 

G. — Yes, if you base your prophecy on the Bishop of 
Peterton, I should say they would. But I don't happen to 
be that kind of a fish. If I should ever be called to suc- 
ceed to his mitre, you would do well to be let down from 
the walls of my episcopal castle in a basket by night and 
flee to the farthest desert. That's the place for all of your 
anti-matrimonial fraternity; where you can browse on 
roots along with the other wild asses, and wash yourselves 
with sand, as do the howling dervishes. I presume your 

42 



order doesn't think it a crime to take a sand-bath. You are 
fastidious now, my boy; but remember your ancient, con- 
ventual ancestry, and henceforth beware of soap and 
water, or they'll appear to you from out of the catacombs 
and ostracize you as a heretic. Come, tell me about the 
ceremony of your induction, and how you got through it. 

M. — Oh, it passed oflf all right. The Bishop seemed 
somewhat embarrassed, but he got through it with his usual 
grace and dignity. 

G. — I suppose he thought if you chose thus to make a 
martyr of yourself, he could live through it, as it wasn't 
his funeral. And how did the congregation take it? 

M. — Without much of a flutter. Two or three ladies 
went out. I suppose the suddenness of it to them affected 
them somewhat. 

G. — How about the young lady who fainted dead away, 
and was carried out in her father's arms ?' 

M. — Goodenough ! 

G.— Well? 

M. — You surprise me ! 

G. — Isn't it true? 

M. — But how do you know ? You were not there. 

G. — But I was well represented. 

M. — How ? By whom ? Stop ! — wait ! — I know ! — the 
widow ! — Mrs. Van der Smythe, who entertained us that 
Sunday you went up there with me. She has written you 
already? 

G. — And why not? We have been corresponding ever 
since. And I am going up there again to see her, if you 
please, Mr, Monk Manners. It is barely possible you may 
have the pleasure and honor, if so sensible a lady as she 
deems a sworn, woman-hating candidate for the bedlam of 
twentieth century monasticism worthy of that honor, of in- 
ducting us into the vow of matrimony some day. Oh, 

43 



there's no engagement yet ! Well — wouldn't you congrat- 
ulate me if there was? 

M. — I can only say, with another widow, — or spinster 
was she ? — I have read of. This is so sudden ! I have been 
half in love with her myself. 

G. — Well — you probably know the lady well enough, 
then, to know that she wants no half-way lover. And if 
she did, she wouldn't suit me. I feel quite easy now. 
Manners, as regards any possible rivalry of yours. I can 
safely dilate on Mrs. Van der Smythe's charms to you 
now, can't I, old boy?' Say, Manners, isn't she charming — 
isn't she lovely f 

M. — Don't, don't, Goodenough. You know I can't dis- 
cuss such subjects now. 

G. — And all I can say. Manners, is, I'm sorry for you ; 
and I say it from the bottom of my heart. You know 
I love you, and respect whatever you love, even to a monk's 
frock. But I respect a woman's more. Come ; I have some 
good old port that was sent me for Christmas in my room, 
and we'll celebrate your revival of the ancient and festive 
brotherhood with a bottle. 

M. — I thank you, my dear fellow. I could not to-night. 
I am not in the mood. You will forgive me for declining, 
won't you? Your happy spirits are infectious, but not 
enough so to dispel the decidedly blue humor that has 
come over me. 

G. — It isn't the confession about the widow that I have 
just made to you, is it? You will have to get used to hear- 
ing confessions of that kind and more serious, later, as 
you know. 

M.— Oh, no; not that — not that! 

G. — Maybe, to m'ake a wild guess, the case of the young 
lady, Miss Lilydale, who seemed to be so deeply affected 
by your renunciation of the fair sex, has something to do 
with it. Hey, Manners? Come, cheer up. Get used to it. 

44 



That vow of yours will have more than one broken heart 
to answer for before you have turned all the clocks in 
Episcopal steeples back a thousand years. I'm not going to 
leave you in this despondency over the outlook ; and so, if 
you will not come to my room, I'll bring my room to you. 
Excuse me a minute. 

Exit Goodenough. 

M. — I wonder if Mrs. Van der Smythe really suspects the 
truth in the case of Miss Lilydale. If she does, I can trusi 
her good sense not to talk of it. But if any of the others 
imagine what was the matter with the young lady, in less 
than a week Squantum will be alive with gossip over the 
unfortunate affair. 

Re-enter Goodenough, with the bottle and glasses. 

G. — Here, now, Manners, don't make the good monks of 
old ashamed of you already, by refusing to join them — I 
feel their presence all aroimd us here — and me in a little 
celebration of the event, befitting the jovial traditions of 
your brotherhood. For, you remember — 
{Filling the glasses.) 

So sat they once at Christmas, 

And bade the goblet pass. 
In their beards the red wine sparkled, 

Like dew drops in the grass. 

They drank to the soul of Witlaff; 

They drank to Christ the Lord ; 
And to each of the Twelve Apostles, 

Who had preached His holy word. 

They drank to the saints and martyrs, 

Of the dismal days of yore ; 
And as soon as the bowl was empty, 

They remembered one saint more. 

45 



And the reader droned from the pulpit, 

Like the murmur of many bees, 
The legend of good St. Guthlac, 

And St. Basil's homilies. 

Till the great bells of the convent, 

From their prison in the tower, 
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus, 

Proclaimed the midnight hour. 

And the yule-log cracked in the chimney ; 

And the Abbot bowed his head ; 
And the flamelets flapped and flickered; 

But the Abbot was stark and dead. 

Yet still in his pallid fingers 

He clutched the golden bowl. 
In which, like a pearl dissolving. 

Had sunk and dissolved his soul. 

But not for this their revels 

The jovial monks forbore; 
For they cried : "Fill high the goblet ! 

We must drink to one saint more." 

I tell you, Manners, if I had lived then, I would have 
been a monk, too. But now — in this twentieth century — 
excuse me. I should wake up out of that dream of yours 
over the Middle Ages, to find myself as dead as that same 
Father Abbot. And you're dead, too, Manners — dead to 
the fair widow, — but that part of it is all right — dead and 
buried; mortuus et sepultus; only stay so; I give your re- 
mains my blessing: peace to those ashes; — dead to the 
lovely Miss Lilydale, whO' is dying for you, — ah, that's 
a quite different story ; — dead to the world 

46 



M. — No, no ! Not yet, Goodenough ; not on one bottle ! 
G. — I'll bring another. 

M. — I thank you ; no ; no more. But on the occasion of 
your wedding, when you marry the fair widow, I will 
pledge your happiness and hers in a glass of that same red 
wine which those good monks knew so well how to drink. 
G. — And you shall be there to tie the knot. In this I can 
speak for Mrs. Van der Smythe. I know how much she 
likes you — platonic, Manners, — only platonic ; never for- 
get that. And now, good-night, my dear fellow. I know 
you must be tired. But don't dream about the widow ; this 
I must forbid you. 

M. — Good-night — good-night. Come in and awaken me 
in the morning, if I oversleep. 

Exit Goodenough. 
(Manners reclines on his couch, and seems to be lost in a 
reverie. From the campus outside a quartette of male 
voices, accompanied by a banjo, is heard, singing. The 
voices are first heard in the distance; they come near 
and recede. As they approach, he rises, walks tozvard 
the window and speaks:) 
"If music be the food of love, play on." 

{He reclines again; falls asleep and dreams.) 

Song. 
'Twas a calm, still night, and the moon's pale light 

Shone soft o'er hill and vale, 
When friends, mute with grief, stood around the death-bed 

Of my poor, lost Lily Dale. 

Chorus. 
Oh, Lily, sweet Lily, dear Lily Dale ! 
Now the wild rose blossoms o'er the little, green grave 
Of my dear, lost Lily Dale. 

47 



Her cheeks that once glowed with the roses of health, 

By the touch of decay were turned pale ; 
And the death dews had gathered on the pure, white brow 

Of my poor, lost Lily Dale. 

Chorus. 

Oh, Lily, dear Lily, sweet Lily Dale ! 
Now the wild rose blossoms o'er the little, green grave 
Of my dear, lost Lily Dale. 

(Dream produced oil stage.) 

(He is in a cemetery and hears a voice calling: "Here — this 
way — here — / am here." It leads him to a vault. He 
approaches the door. As he places his hand on the 
grating, a face — Miss Lilydale's, is pressed against it, 
and she says: "I knew you would come; I am here 
waiting." With these words she thrusts her hand 
through the bars and seises his arm. He speaks: "Oh, 
not you, Lily Lilydale! — you — dead!" He falls.) 
(End of dream.) 
(He awakes; rises, and speaks.) 
Heavens ! What a fearful dream ! 

God help you ; and if I have done you wrong, however 
innocently, help me, too, sweet Lily Lilydale ! 
(Falls back upon the couch.) 
Curtain. 



48 



ACT III. 

SCENE I.— Parlor in the home of Mrs. Van der Smythe. 
Enter Mrs. Van der Smythe and Mr. Manners. 

Mrs. V. — I was sure you would not keep away this time, 
Father Manners. Your new light must be shining; and you 
know how both needed and welcome it is here. 

M. — But it is not so very long since that solar luminary, 
the Bishop himself, was risen high upon you. 

Mrs. V. — High indeed; so high, I fear, that it withered 
more than one of the fair flowers of your garden here. 

M.— But I felt that I had your approval in the step, Mrs. 
Van der Smythe. 

Mrs. V. — You did, sir. And as you, from having been 
an uncertain moon, have become a steady planet in the 
Church's firmament, I shall hereafter regard you as my 
religious star, and always sing to you my vesper hymn, 
"Star of Hope to Wanderers Weary." 

M. — I presume you feel that you can sing all the old 
songs now. Won't you sing one of them for me? 

Mrs. V. — Before you go, I will do so, with pleasure, and 
when you are beyond my horizon again, as you have been 
for so long of late, you will at least remember how it 
sounds from my voice. But why "now"? You seem to 
emphasize that word? 

M. — I will answer you that question by asking another: 
Where is Goodenough? 

Mrs. V. — You think he has something to do with the 
old songs — my singing them now? 

M. — Unless I pay myself the left-handed compliment to 
suppose that it is in consequence of my having become an 
impossible suitor since I have turned monk. 

49 



Mrs. V. — Father Manners, I have something to say to 
you on that subject, though not with reference to myself. 
But to answer your question: Mr. Goodenough has just 
gone over to Mr. Lilydale's to see you. I wonder you did 
not meet him. 

M. — He must have taken another street. 

Mrs. V. — He will soon return. But I am, still, more de- 
voted to you than you deserve. Will my continued devo- 
tion be of any inspiration to you in your new departure? 

M. — You can judge of that from the past. Do you not 
think that you have ever been an inspiration and help to 
me? 

Mrs. V. — Much indeed, if your thoughts of me had any- 
thing to do with your taking the vow of celibacy. 

M. — You know, on the contrary, they could only have 
been a hindrance to that. But, indeed, you have ever been 
a help to me. 

Mrs. v.— Not much help, I fear; but — inspiration? Per- 
haps. Do you call it inspiration f 

M. — Is there any better word, save indeed one? But I 
cannot speak that now, much as I would like to. 

Mrs. v.— I see, Father Manners, that all moral events 
require time for the changes they make to become manifest. 
Yet it may be because your new light shines in a still pre- 
vailing darkness, and the darkness comprehends it not. 

M. — It is rather because of the superior brightness which 
just here and now it so vainly contests. 

Mrs. v.— I must reward you for that compliment, the 
last. I suppose, I shall ever receive. 

M. — The last I shall dare offer; since Goodenough has 
entered this field of conquest. 

Mrs. v.— And why not, as you have abandoned it? 
(Offering him a flower.) Is it against your newly adopted 
principles to accept this? 

50 



M. — We will suppose it to be ; and in that case you can 
fasten it in its place yourself. 

Mrs. V. — What a terrible casuist you will become; like 
the rest of your fellow Jesuits! And as this is the last 
such favor I shall dare offer, I will pin it right over your 
heart, if you have one left under that monk's gown. 

M. — The yellow, golden rose — which does it mean in this 
instance, jealousy or desertion? 

Mrs. V. — Desertion, of course, for me ; but what right 
can you now have to be jealous? Father Manners, do you 
know you are a very lively corpus — corpus delicti, I should 
call you — for one now some two months buried ! Let me 
tell you, it was only a case of suspended animation. Be 
thankful that your grave is above ground. You have sur- 
vived one death. You will not die young. 

M. — But, graves above ground are built of 

Mrs, V. of granite, and have doors to them. But 

what is it?' Have I spoken too freely? Have I offended 
you? You seem hurt. 

M. — Oh, no, no ! Pardon me. It is a passing thought. I 
have reminded myself of a dreadful dream. Heavens ! will 
I never forget that dream? 

Mrs. V. — Pardon me. I spoke thoughtlessly. But dreams 
should be interpreted by contraries. Let me do so for you 
— unless it would depress you to tell it. Never mind ; let 
it pass. I will help dispel it by singing for you and to you 
my vesper hymn. 

M. — Thank you. It is just what I need. 

{Mrs. V. goes to the piano and sings.) 

Vesper Hymn. 
Star of hope to wanderers weary, 

Bright the beams that fall on me, 
Cheer the pilot's vision dreary, 
Far, far at sea. 



Star of peace, gleam on the billow ; 
Bless the soul that sighs for thee; 
Bless the sailor's lonely pillow, 
Far, far at sea. 

Star of faith, when winds are mocking 

All his toil, he flies to thee, 
Save him on the billows rocking, 
Far, fai at sea. 

Star of love, oh, safely guide him, 
Bring the wanderer home to thee. 
Sore temptations long have tried him, 
Far, far at sea. 



M. — It is beautiful. You know Mrs. and Miss Lilydale 
have sailed for Europe? 

Mrs. V. — Yes ; Mr. Lilydale told me ; and that you went 
with him to see them off. 

M. — I did. And this time I saw them. For, what do 
you think! Twice I had been down to the Branch to see 
them, and the first time Mrs. Lilydale, who cut my call 
very short, excused Miss Lily ; and the second time, re- 
fused to see me herself or allow Miss Lily to. 

Mrs. V. — Father Manners, I have always suspected you 
had something to do with their going away from Squan- 
tum. 

M.— You did? 

Mrs. v.— I did. 

M. — I hope you are the only one. 

Mrs. V. — Why? Is it true? You do not answer. 

M. — Please do not ask me. 

Mrs. V. — Father Manners! Don't let me think that! 

M.— How could I help it? 

52 



Mrs. V. — Then it is true? I am so sorry — sorry for you, 
I mean, Father Manners. 

M. — Tell me what you mean. I do not understand you. 
Don't think— that I 

Mrs. V. — That you — ? Oh, no! of course not. You never 
led the heart of that sweet, innocent, young girl on to be- 
lieve that you loved her ! What matters it — our flirtation — 
or, if you choose, folly, serious or trifling, whichever it 
was? All the censure of it I would willingly bear, and 
more — a thousand times more, to still have kept you the 
ideal of my heart — yes, I have said it, of my heart! 

M.— Hear me— hear me, my good, dear, true friend! 
Your best of all good hearts goes before your judgment in 
thus condemning me. I have not spoken yet. 

Mrs. V. — What have you to say? What can you say? 

M.— What? This— that, before God, who is my judge, 
I am as innocent of blame for Lily Lilydale's passion for 
me as you yourself are. 

Mrs. V. — Then she indeed loves you? And how then 
do you know it? 

M. — Yes, unhappy girl, she loves me ; according to the 
testimony of Miss Peters, who took upon herself the 
avowal of her passion for me to the Bishop, pleading with 
him to bring it to my knowledge, and become the inter- 
mediary between us. It was the first, last and only and 
all-absorbing desire and passion of the old lady's last days 
to see us married. She declared it in so many words in her 
letter to the Bishop. 

Mrs. V. — And he told you? 

M. — Yes, after I had determined to take the vow. 

Mrs. V. — And you had no suspicion of it before? 

M. — Upon my honor, not the least. 

Mrs. V. — I believe you; and also for the reason that it 
is not like you not to have responded to the passion for 

53 



you of so lovely a girl as she. But where were your eyes — 
and your thoughts? 

M. — As regards your sex, wherever my eyes were, you 
know well where my thoughts were ; and where they were, 
there, I presume, my eyes were, too; — just where you 
would have them and where they are now — lookmg — gaz- 
ing, rather, at you. 

Mrs. V. — Shut them ; shut them forever. Your friend, 
Goodenough, and I are engaged. 

M. — I thought as much. I congratulate you both. I 
know of no one who could make you so happy, or whom I 
would so little regret to see your husband. 

Mrs. V. — It is well. Come, now ; tell me your dream. I 
must hear it, whether it distresses you or not. You will 
make this last, slight sacrifice for me. 

M. — It is not foreign to the subject we are talking of. 
I seemed to be in a cemetery and hear a voice calling me. 
It led me to a granite vault. Upon approaching the grated 
door I saw the ghostly form of a young girl within. It 
was Lily Lilydale. As I laid my hand upon the grating 
she seized it and said : "I knew you would come ; I am here 
waiting for you." 
,.Mrs. v.— And what then? 

M. — Then I fainted ; and awoke. 

Mrs. V. — You will marry her yet. 

M. — Do you think so? 

Mrs. V. — It won't be my fault, if you do not. 

M. — My vow ! I might, if it were not for that, now that 
you are engaged to Jack. 

Mrs. V. — I venture on the prophecy, anyway. It won't 
be the first one to come true. When did you have that 
dream? 

M. — About two months ago. 

Mrs. V. — Can't you fix the exact date? 
(Going to her writing desk.) 

54 



M. — It was the night I returned to the seminary, after 
the Sunday I joined the Brotherhood. 

Mrs. v.— That was the first day of May — unlucky 
month! You returned Monday? 

M. — No; on Tuesday. 

Mrs. v.— Here is the letter. 

"Long Branch, May 4th. 
"Dear Mrs. Fan dcr S my the: 

"Our hurried departure from Squantum must be my 
apology for not having called to say good-bye to you, and 
also for asking you to increase my already great obliga- 
tions to your kindness by asking you to look after one or 
two matters that I forgot." 

I will pass these over ; they are of no interest to us. 

'"Lily's indisposition continues. Last night she lay in a 
profoimd swoon for a whole hour — from eleven to twelve 
o'clock, a faint pulse being the only sign of life. Of course 
we were all terribly alarmed; but to-day she seems to be 
quite herself again. 

"I have fully determined, if she is equal to the journey, 
to go to Europe next month. 

"Thanking you again for your kind attention to the 
above matters, believe me, Sincerely yours, 

"Sophronia Lilydale.'' 

There! At what hour did you have the dream? 

M. — It was about eleven, or shortly after. 

Mrs. V. — While she was in the trance— profound swoon, 
her mother calls it — in which her spirit passed to yours, 
and, finding it in a receptive state, communicated her suf- 
fering to you. I know something of such occurrences; and 
have as much faith in them as you have in your orthodoxy. 

M. — It is an interesting coincidence. 

Mrs. V. — Now, Father Manners, I have a very personal 
and pertinent question to ask you. But before I do, I will 
preface it with the observation that during the last few 

LofC. 55 



weeks a soft and sweet vein of feeling has qualified your 
sermons, which theretofore rang with echoes of "From 
all false doctrine, heresy and schism, good Lord deliver 
us." 

M. — I was not myself aware of it. 

Mrs. V. — Which only goes to show the genuine nature 
of your conversion — change of heart, shall I call it? I wish 
/ could claim the credit of it, — after what is first due your- 
self. 

M. — I will readily grant it you, Mrs. Van der Smythe, 
provided you will prove your claim valid by a sermon itself 
on charity, the original of which the new version trans- 
lates love, from your own lips. 

Mrs. V. — We women are not allowed, even by the new 
version, to speak in church. 

M. — I did not say that you should pronounce the dis- 
course. I have seen the eloquence of more than one in your 
eyes, — pardon the directness of the compliment. But it is 
to your lips, not your eyes, that I am now referring. 

Mrs. V. — Your argument I take to be that if a woman 
cannot speak in church, she can at least declare herself 
out of it? 

M. — I never heard that statement of the proposition de- 
nied, except when she herself refuses 

Mrs. V. — I think I see your drift. I will tell you what 
I will do: Make me your mother confessor now, and I will 
give you the sermon you are asking for in the form of a 
kiss from my own lips ; but, mind you, a kiss of absolution. 
And, if this is not enough, when you get married, which, 
to my mind, in your case, will be the surest way of keeping 
that vow you have taken, I will reserve one for you of a 
different quality, and deliver it on the occasion. For I am 
sure I shall be denied the privilege ever afterward. Tell 
me, then, Father Manners ; do you not love Lily Lilydale? 
I understand the language of your silence to answer yes. 

56 



M. — It is a confession ; I claim, the seal of forgiveness 
promised. 

{She kisses him.) 

Mrs. V. — And since when? 

M. — Consciously, since I had the dream, — unconsciously, 
I believe, ever since I first knew her. 

Mrs. V. — The blessed gospel of our humanity, in all its 
divineness, has at last come into your heart for good and 
for all, I trust, my dear boy. 

M. — I shall never forget who taught me its first lesson. 

Mrs. V. — And may the second one have no ending. You 
will marry Lily Lilydale. 

M. — More confession : I have actually been thinking of 
that possibility. 

Mrs. V. — Possibility! Certainty, when I take a hand in 
the auguries. Here comes Jack now. I hear his voice, and 
Mr. Lilydale with him. I am going to present to him his 
future son-in-law. 

Enter Goodenough and Mr. Lilydale. 

GooDENOUGH — Yes, here he is, keeping my place warm 
for me. 

Mrs. V. — And why not, when you leave it so long va- 
cant? Good evening, Mr. Lilydale. Father Manners and I 
were just discussing some matters of mutual, all around 
interest to us. 

Mr. Lilydale — Your engagement, I presume, of which 
I have just heard through Mr. Goodenough; with your 
permission, he adds. Accept my sincerest, heartiest, best 
congratulations. 

Mrs. V. — Thank you — thank you. Not so much that as 
another, of more interest to you. / call it an engagement. 
I think it will pass for such, with your sanction, which I 
bespeak for it in advance. Allow me, Mr. Lilydale, to pre- 
sent to you your future son-in-law, Mr. Mathew Louis 
Manners. 

57 



Mr. L. — I don't undertake to dispute Mrs. Van der 
Smythe's word in anything she says ; and to everything she 
says I declare myself agreed. I thought you seemed to 
forget yourself, Father Manners, in your devoted attentions 
to Lily the day they sailed ; and I did my best to keep 
Mrs. Lilydale busy saying good-bye to me. You're all , 
right, Manners, only you've got off on the wrong track, 
but I'll do my best to help you get back. 

M. — Mr. Lilydale, Mrs. Van der Smythe is right. Her 
intuitive understanding of us subjects of the male sex has 
divined and won from me my secret of the past two 
months, that I am in love with your daughter ; and it was 
my purpose to declare myself to you and ask your consent 
to my intentions. 

Mr. L. — And really, Mr., I should say Father, Manners, 
you surprise me. But do not misunderstand the nature of 
my surprise. It is most agreeable to me, I assure you. I 
know no young man whom I would so soon welcome to 
be my son-in-law. But, your vow, Father Manners? How 
about that? 

M. — That, I know now, was a mistake. But, happily, not 
all things that are done cannot be undone. 

Mr. L. — And have you given that difficulty the conscien- 
tious consideration so doubly due? What if this step should 
be a mistake, too? 

M. — Ah, yes; I have also thought of that. Well, if Miss 
Lilydale declines the offer which I desire at the first op- 
portunity to make, I can only remain as I am. 

Mr. L. — I did not mean that ; I referred only to your 
own mind in the matter. 

M. — And very rightly, Mr. Lilydale. For yourself, I as- 
sure you, on my honor as a gentleman, and on my faith 
as a Christian man, that whereas I was mistaken before, I 
am sure of the correctness and decisiveness of my present 
motive; while for Miss Lilydale, be assured, sir, that if I 

58 



can give her no proof of my motive deeper or more char- 
acteristic of a lover than the word of a Christian and a gen- 
tleman, she will not consider my suit for a moment 

Mr. L.— That is quite satisfactory, Mr. Manners. But 
should you not confer with the Bishop first? Would it not 
be proper, in case of your suit being accepted, to undo your 
vow as publicly as it was done? 

M. — It certainly would ; and it shall be so unsaid. 

Mr. L.— But what if the Bishop should refuse to release 
you? 

M. — If you knew, Mr. Lilydale, the reluctance with 
which he at first heard my declared intention to take the 
vow, you would have no doubt of his readiness to free me 
from it. 

Mr. L. — I have no doubt of what you say of his willing- 
ness, so far as you yourself are concerned in the unsaying 
of it. But he may dislike to place himself in so contra- 
dictory a position. If I understand the Right Reverend T. 
Titus Peterton, he is not a man who often forgets himself. 

M. — Very true; but I will in a day or two satisfy you 
of that over his own signature. I will communicate with 
him at once. 

Mr. L. — Very well, sir; and you have here both my 
hands and my best wishes now, as you shall have my cor- 
dial, fatherly blessing on your union with my dear daugh- 
ter, should she receive you as an accepted suitor for her 
hand and heart. But when do you intend to propose to 
her? 

M. — As soon as I can get there, thanks to the favor with 
which you smile upon my suit. But I shall have to ask 
you, as the treasurer of the parish, to advance me a quar- 
ter's salary. 

Mr. L. — No difficulty about that. Will you sail this 
week? 

M. — On Wednesday. 

59 



Mr. L. — They will stop a week in England, where they 
have just about arrived; then a week at Boulogne-sur-Mer. 
You will probably find them there. Mrs. Lilydale's banker 
in London will be able to inform you exactly of their 
whereabouts.- 

Mrs. V. — Look here, Mr. Lily dale. Jack and I have just 
settled that we will be married Wednesday morning, in 
New York, and go on our wedding trip to the Paris Ex- 
position ; and we are not going to leave you behind, either. 
You must, you must go, too. I have an inkling that you 
may be needed. First, Mr. Manners will appear upon the 
scene; then you; and then Jack and L Won't that be just 
killing? 

Mr. L. — I guess it will be kill or cure. But, bless me, 
you take me off my feet! I find myself powerless in this 
rapid current of new and surprising events. And I think 
you are right. You women when you get your caps set, I 
mean your thinking caps, are wiser than Solomon — and I 
may add in this instance, as glorious as Sheba. I'll tele- 
graph for staterooms to-night. 

GooDENOUGH — The bridal suite for us. 

Mr. L. — And congratulations all around. With Lawyer 
and Mrs. Jones in Ireland, and the rest of us in France, 
Squantum will be indeed doing Europe. 

Mrs. V. — And doing herself proud. 
Curtain. 



ACT III. 



SCENE II. — Reception-room in hotel at Boulogne-sur- 
Mer. 

Present, Mr. Manners. Enter Miss Lilydale. 
Manners — Miss Lilydale — I have come a long way to 
ask you if I may call you Lily — and my wife? My darling, 

60 



my darling girl, woman, wife ! Say yes, Lily ; my fair, 
sweet Lily. Only yes ; tell me — tell me yes. 

Miss Lilydale — How were it possible? You have an- 
other bride — wife. You were, or should have been, so con- 
stant to her. Can you be to us both? 

M. — I can ; I will ; I am. You mean the Church. I fan- 
cied there could be a corporate union of the living, the 
vital with the bloodless, the incorporeal. I awoke from my 
delusion to find, like Leonora, a vested ghost in my arms, 
and what should have been the warm, natural day, a cold, 
unearthly moonglare. I thought of you. Love came to me, 
not with you transformed to his likeness, but being himself 
transfigured to yours. I began to dream of you ; and in 
the dream of you to live my true life ; even as in the 
thought of you I was ceasing to live the other that I was 
finding to be false. So I ripened into a lover; your lover, 
Lily, my own Lily. Could I not continue to love you, I 
should hate the Church. Had I not loved you I should 
have been unworthy the Church, too. She, or rather it, so 
impersonal the Church now seems, may be a sister, possibly 
a mother to me ; if there can be enough in common between 
ecclesiasticism — I do not say religion. I have learned to 
distinguish between religion and ecclesiasticism — between 
eccleciasticism and nature to justify these figures; but never 
a bride. Tell me yes, Lily — tell me 

Miss L. — You must see mamma, now, my darling Louis, 
— Louis my own, my boy. I will ring for the maid, and you 
shall ask for her. 

Enter servant. 

Mr. Manners hands her his card for Mrs. Lilydale. 
Exit servant. 

Miss L. — Did you have any difficulty in finding us? 
M. — Your banker in London gave me straight directions 
to you here. 

6i 



Miss L. — I am so glad for your sake, my darling, that 
your card came directly to me here, and was not inter- 
cepted as it was at Long Branch. But. as I received your 
letter, I was looking for you, and nothing could have kept 
you from me now. But I am too happy to remember the 
unhappy past. I have always loved you, and I have you 
now at last, my darling. Possession, I have heard dear 
papa say, is nine points of the law anyway. 

M. — And with his help, if help should be further needed, 
we will make sure of the tenth and last. 
Enter Mrs. Lilydale. 

Mrs. Lilydale — Is this the viscount? 

M. — And who is the viscount, Lily? 

Mrs. L. — Is it thus familiarly, sir, that you address my 
daughter? Right here and now I demand, which I should 
have done long ago, an explanation from you, Father Man- 
ners. You have been the bete noir of the Lilydale family 
long enough for an explanation to be in order. But, before 
you speak, you, Miss Lilydale, may withdraw to your room. 
Don't you think, sir, it would have been common polite- 
ness, — this, at least, I had the right to expect from you, — 
for you to have asked for Mrs. Lilydale before seeing my 
daughter? I say I am waiting for an explanation. Do you 
hear me. Miss Lilydale? You may withdraw. 

M. — I have no explanation to make, madam, which shall 
not be heard by your daughter, also ; whom I address thus 
familiarly because I have the right to do so, having just 
now acquired it from her herself, as I had previously from 
her father ; from whom, by the way, I have a letter to Mrs. 
Lilydale {handing it her) ; and also one to Miss Lilydale. 
So full an explanation from me may not be required after 
you will have read Mr. Lilydale's letter ; I will, therefore, 
if you wish, wait till you have done so. 

Miss L. — Mamma, mamma dear, I allowed you yester- 
day to be deceived ; forgive me, and hear from me the ex- 

63 



planation for which you ask. It is very simple and brief. 
We are engaged ; nor has there been anything secret in our 
love, except what you have shut your eyes to and made a 
secret for yourself. I was not open with you about the 
letter yesterday, — the only letter, darling, is it not, that I 
have received from you? — and it was because your atti- 
tude toward Louis drove me to equivocation. 

Mrs. L. — What ! and so you have become engaged with- 
out consulting me either? 

Miss L. — Yes, mamma, and for the same sufficient 
reason. 

M. — I would have sought your consent, Mrs. Lilydale, 
even as I have already Mr. Lilydale's, had you permitted 
me to do so. It is for this that your daughter, as well as I, 
has now sought you. She asks it; I too ask it now, Mrs. 
Lilydale. Let us be friends. I think your husband's letter 
will satisfactorily explain everything relating to myself and 
my intentions. 

Mrs. L. — It is wicked ! it is a conspiracy ! it is robbery ! 
and I renounce you both ! 

M. — In that case, Mrs. Lilydale, you throw your daughter 
here upon my hands, and it will be necessary for her father 
to come over and chaperon her until the marriage can 
take place. 

(Mrs. Lilydale becomes hysterical and abandons herself to 

her feelings.) 

Enter Mr. Lilydale. 

Mr. Lilydale — My dear daughter ! Louis ! And my dear 
wife! 

{Raising her up. She, weeping upon his shoulder.) 

Mrs. L. — You here, too ! How is it that you have been 

so impatient to join us? Why did you not wait till we had 

finished our tour and were ready to return with you? Did 

you think that I was so impatient to get back to Squantum ? 

63 



What have I to return to Squantum for? I was never 
happy there, and shall be miserable, and only miserable 
now. If you have come for Lily, take her. I will stay 
here. At any rate, I will not go back to Squantum. 

Mr. L. — My dear, dear wife, you are distressed and 
nervous, and I can easily understand why. If I should give 
way to my own feelings under the surprises and anxieties 
that have happened, one after another, during the past 
year, I should be in a fair way to become an invalid and a 
prey to melancholy. I do not ask you to go back to Squan- 
tum; neither can we for good reasons, and reasons, in view 
of her delicate health, for which we ought to be thankful, 
ignore our daughter's unwillingness to remain abroad the 
coming year. I have a new proposition to make : substi- 
tute Florida for Italy ; it is so much nearer home ! You 
had almost determined, at one time, to go South, instead 
of going to Europe. Besides, you and Lily will find old 
acquaintances and friends there, whom you may not meet 
in Italy. Fate is stronger than mortals. Let us not ex- 
pend what hope and happiness we have in contending 
against it. 

Mrs. L. — I suppose you mean also that it is the ordering 
of Fate that we should go to Florida. I have to be re- 
signed to the greater fatality ; I might as well accept the 
lesser. But do not deceive yourself into believing that I 
fail to recognize you as the impersonation of the Fate of 
which you speak. Had your part in the affair been other 
than it has ; that is, had you acted with me, it would not 
have come to its present issue. 

Mr. L. — Possibly not ; but remember there are other de- 
plorable issues to which it might have come instead. 
Moreover, while it is written that a man shall leave his 
father and mother and cleave unto his wife, it is nowhere 
written, either in nature or revelation, that a man shall 
cleave unto his wife at the sacrifice of his child. 

64 



Mrs. L. — Is she not my child also? Which sacrifice 
themselves for their children — fathers or mothers? And 
which one of us is makmg that sacrifice now? It is all 
right in your eyes, but not in mine. 

Mr. L. — If m this instance where all things else are in- 
different, your daughter's good be not the chief and only 
right, then there is nothing of right or wrong concerned, 

Mrs. L. — I do not see it in that light. 

Mr. L. — Precisely ; that is the whole difficulty. I would 
not imply the possibility of any difference in our affection 
for our daughter, but there is a difference in our judgment 
regarding that which is most conducive to her welfare and 
happiness — a difference, my dear Sophronia, of the head 
only, not at all of the heart. You concede, do not you, that 
the man is head over the woman. Otherwise, in every fam- 
ily there would be two heads, as there also are in so many 
notwithstanding, and consequent dissension and anarchy. 

Mrs. L. — It is not worth while for us to argue this 
question. I agree with you that there are organic differ- 
ences and difliculties, too, where there should be none. To 
quote from your own favorite wisdom: "In every contest 
the weaker goes to the wall." 

Enter Mr. and Mrs. Goodenough. 

Mr. L. — Ah, here are our friends 

Mrs. L. — Mrs. Van der Smythe ! Are you — are you in 
this plot, too! Or am I dreaming or out of my senses? 

Mrs. Goodenough — My dear Mrs. Lilydale, how do you 
do? The strange things that seem to be happening have 
overtaken me also. Present me, or us rather, Mr. Lily- 
dale, please. 

Mr. L. — Oh, ah, yes; I came near forgetting. Wife, this 
is not Mrs. Van der Smythe; she is now Mrs. Goodenough 
— Mr. and Mrs. Goodenough, Mrs. Lilydale, 

Mrs, G. — Yes, Mrs. Lilydale; and we are on our way to 

65 



the Paris Exposition on our wedding trip; and of course 
had to call in to see you and Lily. Where is she? 
{Mr. Manners and Miss Lilydale advance from the inner 
reception-room. ) 

Here she comes, and Mr. Manners. How do you do, 
both? Are congratulations in order? 

Mrs. L. — So you know — so you are in the plot, Mrs. — 
Mrs. Goodenough — you — the best friend I had in Squan- 
tuin ! 

Mrs. G. — And for that very reason, Mrs. Lilydale. Your 
best friend also everywhere and always, Mrs. Lilydale. 
Lily, I never saw you looking so beautiful — just as your 
mother did when she was married. 

Mrs. L, — You may reserve your compliments for Lily, 
Mrs. Goodenough, and excuse me, please. 

{She starts as if to leave the room.) 

Enter Lawyer and Mrs. Jones, loaded with valises, satchels 

and boxes. 

Mrs. Jones — Fathers alive! Am I back in Squantum, 
or where am I? Joshua! Do you see them? — Mrs. Lily- 
dale ! Father Manners ! Mr. 

Mrs. L. — Go away — go away, woman ! 

Mrs. J. — "Woman" ! "Woman" ! This to me, Mrs. Lily- 
dale ! Your only friend, I was going to say, in Squantum ; 
but I won't say it ; when I've stopped here, too, all the way 
from Ireland on my way to the great Paris Imposition ! 

Mrs. L. — Take me back, Thompson! Take me back to 
Squantum. This finishes Europe for me ! 

Mrs. J. — And you, too, Mrs. Van der Smythe ! And 
Father Manners with his arm around Lily Lilydale ! 

M. — A slight mistake, Mrs. Jones 

Mrs. J. — Yes ; it looks so, from the disappearance. 

M. — I mean, this is Mrs. Goodenough; — Mr. and Mrs. 
Goodenough, Mrs. Jones. 



3477-ll3 

Lot 74 



Mrs. J. — What does it all mean? That satchel, Joshua! 
-my smelling-bottle ! I believe I'm going crazy 1 

{Mrs. Lilydale faints.) 

Miss L. — O papa! mamma has fainted! 

{Rushes to her mother.) 

Poor mamma ! dear mamma ! 

Curtain. 









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